Colors of the wind

It was a cool autumn morning that Mortis woke to. The winged wolf stretched with a quiet yawn, and peeked out into the rapids beyond. Considering the grey world beyond. It looked like there was a chance of rain, but he should have time to hunt before the skies opened.

He turned back around, looking at Hika who had woken with his gentle jostling and movement. “Morning” He said softly, offering a small smile to the other wolf. It was likely quite visible to Hika how restless Mortis had been of late. Homesick for the Armada, and the Plains of his birth. Struggling with identity, and finding his place. When it seemed who he would be was constantly shifting. Once a wolf training to be heir, left behind by his family.


"Mortis""Hika"